Give or Take a Century
by The Treacle Tart
Summary: Some Slash - Sometimes it's just better not to ask the questions in the first place. SS-RL COMPLETE


**Give or Take a Century**

Severus Snape lay back in his bed, staring at the shadows of the flickering candle's flame dancing on the walls of his chambers. It wasn't often he had the luxury of doing so, of just laying back and enjoying a quiet night. The school year was over; there were no classes to teach. The war was over; there were no missions or meetings. Voldemort was dead, and he was free. The world was at peace…and he was bored out of his mind.

_There had to be more to it than this_, he thought exasperatedly. He was a decorated war hero, one who finally had that Order of Merlin that eluded him so many years before. Shouldn't there be more to a world without turmoil? Shouldn't he be happy?

The thought struck him mute. _Happy?_ He hadn't really ever thought of it before. Was he even capable of it…of being happy? Thus far in his life, he was far too preoccupied with surviving with all his organs in their original position to give any thought to whether he would actually be happy to have survived in the first place.

His debts were paid with double interest. It was time to start reaping the benefits of his work – he deserved as much. The first step was figuring out what he wanted and for that he might need some help.

Severus felt the only way to find happiness was to find out what made other people happy. Though it pained him beyond measure to even consider, the route to his answers was obvious. He needed to talk to those who seemed content in their lives and find out what why they were so.

It seemed logical enough.

* * *

The first stop was to the most jovial person he knew - Albus Dumbledore.

"Severus," the headmaster said with a twinkling smile, "Good to see you out of the dungeons."

"Yes," was all he could manage in return. He had no idea how to start this conversation. Now that he was faced with actually having to ask the questions, the route seemed decidedly less logical.

"Would you like some tea?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes," he said again automatically, then flinched. Damn! How he hated tea with the headmaster. There would be sweets and baked goods and far too much cream and sugar in his tea. He would need to brew a strong stomach tonic before the night was over.

"Something troubles you," Dumbledore remarked, carefully looking away from Severus.

"Yes, actually." His eyes followed Dumbledore's hand, and the heaping spoonful of sugar he was about to put in Severus's tea. The more he prolonged the conversation, the more likely he was to suffer acute indigestion. "Headmaster," he relented, "Are you…what…what makes you happy?"

Dumbledore's smile softened as he spooned in the sugar and began to stir. "I thought this was coming."

"You thought what was coming?"

"This question," he replied amusedly.

It was times like these that Snape was grateful for his amazing restraint. Azkaban was not a pleasant place, and he wasn't keen on an extended visit. "And what, may I ask, lead you to this great knowledge, when I only thought of the question this evening?"

"Severus," Dumbledore said knowingly, "your fortieth birthday is approaching, isn't it?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"It's perfectly normal, you know."

"What is?"

"This re-evaluation of your life. Many people do so as they approach forty."

For the love of— 

"Approaching forty has nothing to do with my question," Severus retorted, nearly spitting. "The possibility of living another hundred years— which up until very recently I hadn't even considered—does."

"Severus, you're still a young man-"

"I know that."

"-with many, many years ahead of you."

"Precisely."

"Why, life is just beginning."

"Exactly."

"Good. I'm glad you came around."

Severus paused to look about the room to make sure the headmaster wasn't speaking to someone else. "Excuse me?"

"I'm glad I was able to get through to you."

"Get what through to me?"

"That you still have many, many wonderful years ahead of you."

"I know that."

"Magnificent!"

"Did I miss something?"

"No, child, you missed nothing at all."

"I am gathering this conversation is over."

"Lemon square?"

_Well_, thought Severus hopelessly as he bit into the disgustingly sweet pastry, there was his first _answer_. It was obvious how Dumbledore maintained his happiness. He was insane.

* * *

His gastric pains were now coupled with a headache from his conversation with Dumbledore. Severus didn't have the patience to brew his stomach tonic, so he begrudgingly went to Madame Pomfrey to request some from her.

"You look a right mess," she said, scowling.

Madame Pomfrey's bedside manner often made Severus long for the gentle hand of the Dark Lord. "Is that your medical opinion?" he replied though a clenched jaw.

"Don't be wise with me, Severus. It's not my fault you drank yourself silly."

"I drank tea—the headmaster's sickly version of it, anyway."

At this revelation, her head shot up and her eyes went wide. "You drank tea with the headmaster? Voluntarily? What's wrong? Are you dying?"

Severus sniffed. "I can assure you, madam, that were I dying I wouldn't be spending any of my last moments drinking that vile brew."

"So why were you there?"

"I just needed to ask a question," he admitted.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him comprehensively. "Did you get your answer?"

"I got an answer, just not to the question I asked."

"Come again?"

Severus huffed. This was going to be humiliating, but perhaps she could supply an answer where that doddering old fool failed so splendidly. "I asked him about happiness…about what makes him happy, and he went on and on about my turning forty."

Her eyes lit up in understanding. "Oh, you're turning forty. Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?"

"Why you're so upset!"

"I'm not upset. I was-"

"Severus, don't fret about it. Turning forty is no big deal."

"I know that."

"Many, many full years lay ahead of you…."

"That's just my point—"

"You know what you need."

His eye started to twitch. "More tonic?" he offered.

"You need a new look."

"Pardon?"

"That's what most people do - they get made over. New hair cut, dye away some of those grey hairs…"

"I have no grey hairs."

"Of course, you don't, dear. You could use some new clothes, something colorful – a nice Dragon-hide jacket and boots, maybe even trousers. Those will look really smart."

"Are you serious?"

"Maybe some sun, too. You're rather pale."

"Anything else?"

"Your nose."

"Of course."

"A new look will give you a new attitude. You'll see."

"Yes, well thank you. I'll just run along and completely change everything about my appearance, until I look like someone else entirely."

"You do that and remember the best years are ahead of you."

* * *

"Severus. A word."

Upon hearing his name, Severus sighed. He had no idea what she wanted, but her tone implied he was about to be lectured. He surrendered. After a conversation with a senile old man, and an idiotic medi-witch, could this be much worse? "Yes, Minerva?"

"This won't do, Severus," she reprimanded as they entered her cramped office.

"What won't do?" he asked, already pinching his temple with his thumb and forefinger in anticipation of the headache that was assuredly about to return.

"We can't have you drinking yourself sick just because you're turning forty."

"What in blazes are you talking about, woman?" he snapped.

"We all age Severus; it is part of the natural order of things."

"I know that."

"You have many, many years ahead of you."

"As I am being constantly reminded."

"Needing to see Madame Pomfrey after a drinking binge. Acting like a child will not make the aging process stop. Honestly Severus, I thought better of you."

* * *

"Heard you're having a hard time with the aging thing."

He looked up from his notes to see Madame Hooch leaning against his doorway. "I assume you're here to give me advice," he stated.

"Women," she said with certainty in her voice.

"Women?" Severus responded blinkingly.

"Young women," she affirmed. "Young women in exceedingly tight clothing. That always makes a man forget that he's half way to death."

"Young women, you say?"

"With large breasts and long legs."

"What if I prefer men?" he offered.

"Fine," she shrugged. "Men with large breasts and long legs if that's your bag. Mines not to judge."

"Of course. Anything else?"

"No, not really."

"Bless you for keeping this mercifully short."

* * *

Severus Snape refused to admit he was hiding. He was enjoying some well-deserved solitude. He was catching up on long neglected personal tasks. He was getting in touch with his inner Potions master. And the best way to achieve all those goals was to be curled up in the fetal position, in his bed, with a blanket over his head, hugging a stuffed toy niffler.

Somehow the word had gotten out about Snape's _condition_. Everyone either looked at him with pity, offered advice, or sent their condolences and a box of dark chocolates. Hagrid tried to convince him he needed to learn to ride a hippogriff, duel a blast ended skrewt, or swim with the giant squid to get a bit of adventure in his crumbling life. Peeves the poltergeist took to playing funeral marches on a trumpet as he trailed Snape between classes. Filch just burst into tears crying, "But he was just a child."

It was after Nymphadora Tonks said, "I don't know what you're upset about. I think you look great. How old you gonna be? Fifty-two? Fifty-three?" that he began taking meals in his quarters. He was wondering if one could actually drown in chocolate, and if it would really be a horrible way to go, when he heard a knock on the door.

"Severus," a voice called, "Severus, it's Remus Lupin."

"If you're here to tell me that I have many, many wonderful years ahead of me, Lupin, I'll incinerate you where you stand," he growled.

Lupin laughed. "I promise. I bring only a bottle of cognac."

"Cognac?" The night was looking up.

"Yes. You are old enough to drink, right?"

Severus opened the door but was not happy about it. "You're lucky I'm so in need of a good drink, wolf. Getting properly pissed may be the only thing that would feel better than hexing you into a were-chicken. However, before you enter, I must inquire —as it would be terribly out of character for me to just let you into my chambers without questioning you in a terse and boorish manner—why are you here?"

Lupin smiled warmly as he entered. "I turned forty last month. So I know what they've probably been putting you through. I thought this could help."

"They subjected you to this as well? And here I thought they saved the more humiliating viciousness for me."

Lupin began to pour the amber liquid into two large goblets. "Well, some might have enjoyed it more than others, but I'm afraid we all go through it as we hit that particular milestone. I was told I should buy the latest in racing brooms—something red and shiny that went really fast—by one well-meaning friend. Another suggested that I should go away to some remote island, grow my hair long, and comb the beaches, whatever that means. And yet another told me that I should settle down with a nice girl and raise a litter." He smirked at Severus. "That one I thought you'd like."

Snape didn't quite succeed in hiding his smile.

"I knew that would cheer you up," Lupin remarked, to which Snape snapped.

"For the love of all things green, I'm not depressed. Why does everyone assume that just because I'm turning forty, I should be miserable."

"You have to understand, Severus, we've been mixing with Muggles for hundreds of years now. Their life expectancy is much shorter than ours. If their lives aren't set the way they'd like by the time they're forty, they fall part. It's really a difficult time in their lives. They call it a crisis, for heaven's sake."

"A crisis? Sounds catastrophic."

" It's brutal. The fact is, no one likes getting older. It means time is passing us by, and if we're not at a point that we're comfortable with, we begin to fear we may never be happy."

Snape sniffed as he emptied his glass. "That's how this all started in the first place."

"What is?"

Snape thought for a moment. "I'll need a refill before I answer that question."

"Understandable." Lupin poured another healthy glassful.

After a good long swig, Snape replied, "I realized—much to my own surprise— that I actually survived this war and I began to wonder what I wanted in life. What it would take to make me happy. I had never really thought about it before, as there was never any time for what I considered a pointless question. I was going to die some agonizing death by the hand of one side or the other, and that would be the end. I was so certain that I'd meet my maker sooner rather than later, that I've had my will written since I was eighteen."

"And with the war over, you now have the next hundred years to consider."

"Exactly. Suddenly, all I have is time. I can actually enjoy my life, but I have no idea how. I would rather not waste time aimlessly wandering around looking for something I might never find, so I thought I'd ask around to see what made others content in their lives hoping it might give me an idea. That proved painfully pointless."

"But Severus, that's the point, isn't it? No one has that answer," Lupin said. "It isn't the destination that's the key to a happy life, but the journey. If everyone figured out what made them happy at forty, what would they have to look forward to for the rest of their lives?"

Severus stared at him in amazement. It was the first intelligent opinion he heard in days. He briefly wondered how potent the cognac was, and whether he was still suffering side effects from overly-sweet tea and lemon squares.

Lupin, taking advantage of the Potions master's unusual quiet, kept talking. "The fact of the matter is, what makes me, or Albus, or Minerva happy, will most likely bore the hell out of you. You need to think about what exists in your life that works for you, and what doesn't. Maybe you try new things, maybe you just do some things differently. It isn't as simplistic as flashy clothing or racing brooms, but it doesn't mean you have to change your entire life. I think it means you just shouldn't be afraid of living it in the first place. The amount of time one spends in this world isn't nearly as important as how that time is spent.

Severus really didn't know what to say. There was nothing earth-shattering in what Lupin said. It was common sense. Yet, no one else was able to put it so clearly. No one else offered anything as rational…as comforting. Snape was almost impressed. "You make a valid point, Lupin."

"Such flattering words, Severus. You make me blush," Lupin said with a grin, as he emptied his glass.

Snape swirled the contents of his goblet around before downing the rest. "Why does everyone think that the secret to youth is acting like a hormone-crazed adolescent? I don't recall those days as being all that remarkable. I remember awkwardness, insecurity, uncertainty, and an irrational fear of anything new and different. I rather like being a bit more knowledgeable about the workings of the world. I like being a learned adult. Is there anything wrong in than?"

"Nothing at all, but some miss the days when it seemed like they had promise and the time to actually explore what _could be_."

"Why does that have to end at forty?"

"It doesn't."

"It could start at forty, couldn't it?"

"Yes. Yes it could." Lupin poured some more cognac for Severus and himself before he continued. "I would venture to guess the road to your happiness isn't as uphill as you make it out to be. I think you like teaching much more than you let on, and that no matter how many times you apply for the Darks Arts position, you would never give up Potions. I think you find comfort at Hogwarts, and a home—something I understand all too well. I also think you don't hate me nearly as much as you try to have me believe."

"I think you've had too much to drink."

Lupin just smiled. "I think I might've at that," he said as he emptied his glass yet again. After a few moments, he stood up slowly and took a few stabilizing breaths. "Well Severus, I hope you've enjoyed our little discussion as much as I have."

He did. He truly did, and he thought he should say so, but he found he couldn't quite say the words. Severus blamed it on the alcohol he imbibed, but couldn't be sure it was the only reason. He also thought about standing up to see his guest out, but quickly changed his mind when he realized he couldn't feel his legs. "I trust you can see yourself to the door," he said groggily.

"Yes. It may take me a moment, though. Goodnight, Severus."

Severus watched him leave, and some part of him thought it wasn't a good idea, that perhaps the werewolf should stay a while longer. It seemed to him that they really hadn't finished their conversation, but a mixture of fatigue, an obscene amount of alcohol, and the significance of Lupin's words were weighing too heavily on him.

The last thing he thought before he succumbed to the blissful blackness was, _Lupin really isn't all that bad, is he?_

* * *

Severus Snape never really liked birthdays. He always got books or scratchy robes. He always had to smile when his Aunt Agrappina demanded a kiss for her trifle of a gift, or his foul cousin Ephesus would punch his arm repeatedly in some twisted Muggle ritual he'd heard about.

When he got older, he was subjected to Dumbledore's hideous surprise parties, which were never really surprises. He still got books and scratchy robes. Ephesus's malicious punches were replaced by Hagrid's bone-crushing hugs, and Aunt Agrappina's extorted kisses were exchanged for Sybil Trelawney's attempt to lure Snape back to her quarters for an in-depth look into his crystal balls.

For once, Severus almost looked forward to his birthday. For him, turning forty was a rite of passage- something he earned. Despite numerous attempts by the innately evil, he survived, and now could look forward to a long life. He had taken on a few new projects, made arrangements to visit a fellow Potions master from Berne to discuss the latest innovations in Polyjuice and a possible collaboration on an improved Dreamless Sleep Draught, and decided to update the Potions curriculum to include more independent research.

He managed to convince the headmaster that he was still very depressed about turning forty and asked that the staff just allow the atrocious occasion to pass quietly. Dumbledore only nodded knowingly, plied Severus with two lemon squares and an éclair, and told him to travel to some island, get some sun, and settle down with a nice hippogriff.

It was just after dusk when he returned to his rooms to find a small pile of gifts. Along with the usual stack of books, some of which looked surprisingly interesting, Severus found a supply of some rare and expensive Potions materials from Draco, his new apprentice, a sweater from the Weasleys with an invitation to dinner,(he would, of course, _accidentally_ lose the dinner invitation but he always wanted one of those damn sweaters) and a rather large bottle of cognac.

It was the bottle of cognac that intrigued him, as well as the attached note, which read, 'No one should drink alone on his birthday. I'll be by at seven.'

What would a rite of passage be without a few complications, after all, and what could be more complicated than his relationship with Remus Lupin? He had been thinking about the werewolf more and more lately, with the more recent thoughts making him blush like a Hufflepuff. Was he too old to feel what he was feeling? Probably. But it was nice to know he would have the next hundred years to figure it out.

_Finis_


End file.
